Black Wings
by Ithilmir
Summary: A different take on the Suicide. Very definitely AU. Response to a prompt on javertvaljean LJ community.


**A/N:** This was supposed to be crack!fic, but somewhere along the line it got serious(ish). I'm not going to reveal what the prompt was until the end, because that will just spoil the surprise. P.S. Reviews are very much welcome.

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Valjean turned the corner of the alleyway and to his surprise found his quarry had lead him back to the River. Odd to think Javert would return here when he had only just left, especially when he theoretically had a convict waiting for him. It was odd that he'd left the rue Plumet in the first place, considering his promise to wait, and Javert was always a man of his word. At the moment he was just standing propped up against the side of the parapet, staring down into the dark, swirling water thoughtfully. They stayed like this for about half an hour; the convict lurking on the street corner, the policeman a dimly-lit shape under one of the six wrought iron lanterns positioned on the bridge. All of a sudden Javert lifted his head, squared his shoulders and determinedly stalked off in the direction of the Place du Châtelet. Unwilling to lose any detail of this strange, and indeed worrying, behaviour Valjean followed at a distance, keeping to the patches of shadow that pooled deeply between the intermittent gaslights.

On reaching the Place du Châtelet Javert went straight to the police post and Valjean felt a stab of panic in his breast. Perhaps the Inspector had simply gone to the bridge to decide on a course of action, obviously then deciding to err on the side of caution and to fetch re-enforcements. Immediately the ex-con's thoughts snapped to Cosette. What would happen if they found her there alone? Would Javert take her in for questioning, demanding answers to questions she wouldn't understand? Surely not; not Javert! But as is with all parents when their brood is threatened, Valjean's mind turned to the worst case scenario. It was his duty to go back home at once, to warn Cosette and move her to place of safety; but there was some strange curiosity, some unknown feeling made him stay, watching. He didn't have long to wait. No sooner had Javert gone in than ten minutes later he emerged and headed back towards the River. Too short a time to make a report, too long to simply pick up an extra guard, and he had come out alone.

There was something wrong; Valjean knew it as he walked breathlessly back the way he came, ducking and diving behind any convenient cover. There had been something wrong ever since Javert had found him and the Marius boy outside the sewer grating, and after that the night had become stranger and stranger. Once more Valjean saw Javert silhouetted on the bridge, and this time he decided he would hazard a closer look. There was a large coil of mooring rope nearby. Taking a deep breath, Valjean darted out of the mouth of the alley and flung himself to the ground. On peering out from his hide it didn't seem to have been worth grazing his knees; Javert seemed oblivious to anything that was happening around him.

Now he was closer Valjean could make out Javert's face clearly. The man looked worn, hunted; his shoulders slumped and his brow furrowed in a most despairing manner. Taking off his hat, he ran a hand through his grizzled mane, emitting a sigh that made Valjean shudder to the core. All these things were foreign to the Javert he knew, the Javert that had pursued him so relentlessly all these years. What was this strange, broken apparition stood before him? He had no more time to contemplate, however, as at this point Javert placed his hat on the bridge beside him, lay his cane against the railings and heaved himself up onto the parapet. He stood there, a dark figure standing tall against the starlight; taking a step forward, now leaning, leaning…

"No!" Valjean cried, breaking cover and sprinting onto the bridge. Javert turned, surprise clearly written on his face which quickly changed into fury when he recognised the convict. He turned back to the River, raising his head to gaze up at the sky.

"Go home, Valjean," he said firmly.

"Javert, what are you doing?" asked Valjean, incredulously. "Get down!"

"It's none of your business. Go home."

"But you can't do this! Just stop and think for a moment."

"Oh? And what am I doing? Care to enlighten me?"

"Javert, please. Just come down."

"Shouldn't you be with your daughter?" Javert asked testily. His voice had an unusually rough quality to it, as if he were fighting back tears. "Comforting her, telling her everything's alright and that daddy saved her dead revolutionary?"

"I'm not leaving until you come down from there."

"Just sod off, alright?" he snapped. His eyes then took on a pleading expression. "Please."

"Javert," said Valjean, gently laying a hand on his arm. "You don't have to do this."

Javert emitted a low growl, shrugging off the hand, but did not move. Valjean bit his lower lip, gazing down at the pavement in a moment of indecision, then started to climb onto the parapet as well. Javert's head snapped round and he looked at him with a frown.

"What are you doing?"

"If you're not coming down, then I'm coming up."

"No, don't! The stone–"

The warning came too late. The slab beneath Valjean's feet broke loose and before he knew what was happening he was plummeting into a dark abyss, the raging water of the Seine coming ever closer. But barely had the thought 'Oh Jesus, I'm going to die' flashed through his head then he saw a flash of black feathers, felt strong arms around him and he found he was being pulled up and away from the River; up, up until the whole of Paris was spread beneath him. He felt the world swirl around him in a fast rush of light, dark and cold air; then all of a sudden he was let down with a thud, and everything was right again. He lay gasping; shocked, but on solid ground once more, staring up in amazement at the naked black-winged figure standing over him with folded arms and a very foul temper.

"But… what… who…?"

"Do you really need to ask?" Javert growled, his eyes burning with an intensity that made the ex-con wince with pain. "Why did you have to interfere? Why couldn't you just stay away?"

"I…" Valjean struggled to find his voice, but the words stuck in his throat. "I…"

Javert swept around angrily, swishing his tail and stalked across the slates. Only now did Valjean realise they were perched on a roof; a roof belonging to a fine town house by the looks of it, though judging by the amount of moss no one had been up here for some time. Raising himself up on his elbows, he crawled along the leading to gaze over the edge and his mouth dropped open wide. They must have been six, no, seven storeys from the ground; the odd couple of people walking below looking ridiculously small. This did nothing to alleviate his current feeling of extreme nausea, and he promptly turned to be sick behind a rather battered stone griffin.

"Not to your liking, Jack?" asked Javert unsympathetically. "I'll wager you didn't expect this as a reward for sticking your nose in."

"But you were about to jump!" gasped Valjean, wiping his mouth with his already foul sleeve.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes! I couldn't just…" His voice faltered as he caught up with what Javert had just said. "You were going to jump, weren't you?"

"News to me," said Javert, shrugging. "The only one who seemed to be going in a downwards direction was you."

"If you had come down when I asked I wouldn't have been up there!"

"Well if you hadn't thought my life was any of your bloody business you wouldn't have been up their either!" Javert snarled. He turned away muttering. "Bloody-minded, interfering, self-centred–"

Valjean felt his blood rise. There was no way he was going to be so unjustly treated after he had attempted to save a man's life, then tossed and turned all about the night sky.

"Christ, Javert! You drop in on me like some guardian angel and then expect me not to ask how or why?"

Javert turned his fiery gaze on the ex-con. Valjean shuddered but defiantly held his ground, and eventually the anger began to dissipate from Javert's eyes. He sat brooding on the edge of the roof, his wings curled around him like some black shroud, so much that Valjean got the impression he was trying to use them as a shield between them. After what seemed like an age Javert spoke.

"You are right," he said quietly. "Partially. I am an angel, or at least I was." He turned to see the look on Valjean's face and gave a disgusted snort. "You did ask."

"An angel?" repeated Valjean, more horrified than amazed.

"Yes."

"What kind of an angel has black wings and horns?"

"Oh yes, that's right," said Javert, rolling his eyes and giving a disgusted flick of his tail. "Just 'coz it's not white and fluffy and doesn't have a halo it's not an angel."

"But a tail?"

"You try flying without a tail for balance," said Javert bitterly. "But then again, you don't seem to have been born to go aloft, do you?"

Silence descended on the rooftop as Valjean sat contemplating his strange companion. It was Javert, no doubt, but Javert with a lot more limbs and body parts than reason dictated. Oddly enough his brain was not crying out 'this is madness', nor trying to fight his senses; the nausea was subsiding and in its place was being filled with a rising curiosity. Odd really. Just one more bit of oddness to add to a very odd night.

"W… why did you fall?" he asked meekly.

"Impatience," Javert said simply. His voice was still resentful, but the outright anger had gone. "And that is all you need to know."

"Impatience? What do you mean by impatience?" asked Valjean. Javert let out a frustrated sigh.

"Even if I did tell you…? You wouldn't understand; it's beyond your comprehension."

"Then tell me why you are here."

"This is my punishment," Javert said disdainfully, gesturing vaguely at the city stretching away into the distance. "It was deemed I should see what it is to exist only with mortal sight, to live in frail flesh, to sin, and what it is to be without forgiveness."

"But surely an angel can't sin?"

"Weren't you listening, Valjean? I am fallen, so I am human. To be human is to sin."

"Then if you're human, why do you still have wings?"

Javert sighed again, running his hand through his steely-grey hair.

"They're just a shadow," he said quietly. "They're not really there. If I believe they are there, they are; if not they're gone." He shrugged his shoulders and pulled out his snuff box, taking a pinch whilst Valjean was trying not to let the fact the Inspector had just produced a snuff box from a non-existent pocket disturb him too much. "Likewise for other people seeing them. If I were to, say, decide I had wings in a busy street, only those who believe they're there will see me like this. However most people choose to ignore such lunacy, and to them I am just plain Inspector Javert. Luckily for you, you believed what you saw so I was able to glide down and save your neck. If not, you would have believed there was no chance of being saved and you would have drowned."

Another silence. On his part Valjean had lost the last part of Javert's explanation as he had turned to reminisces, thinking through his past encounters with the Inspector trying to see if there was any clue, any detail he had missed that may have betrayed his true nature. But no, there was nothing; although at one point during his time as M. Madeleine he had remarked that Javert seemed to possess super-human reserves of energy. And his doggedness; how could he forget the Chase, when their lives had been nothing but the Chase? And then there were those eyes; eyes that could catch his breath and bring his heart to a standstill. That gaze had always seemed so penetrating, so capable of searching your entire soul… and now he knew why. Javert had possessed the ability to see inside and know men's most secret thoughts, and something like that could not help but leave its mark.

"You know, if you stopped thinking about the wings I would just go back to normal again," said Javert casually, bringing Valjean out of his reverie. "And it is getting a little chilly up here just being in the nip."

Valjean murmured an apology and closed his eyes, trying to imagine Javert in his human form. It was a lot easier than he thought it would be, as it seemed his brain had been longing to return to the Javert he knew all evening, and sure enough when he opened them again there was Inspector Javert in his greatcoat perching on the ledge.

"Better?"

"Much, thank you."

More silence. Across the city clock towers struck the half hour at varying speeds sending a wave of chimes reverberating throughout the night air. Once the cacophony had died down, the stillness returned and the two sat there in companiable silence. It was not that there was nothing to say, but too much, and it frustrated Valjean greatly. It felt as if there was so much that needed to be said, so much to understand, so much to do to right the wrongs of the past. But in truth they had said it all, done it all. There _was_ nothing more to say.

"I'm sorry."

It all boiled down to two words. Javert wearily shook his head.

"No, don't be," he said. He snorted when he saw Valjean's deadly serious expression, and he let out a theatrical sigh, rolling his eyes. "Oh alright; I forgive you, Valjean. Happy now?"

The Inspector looked so ridiculous that Valjean could do nothing but smile, and to his surprise Javert smiled back.

"So what will you do now?"

"I will go," said Javert, gazing back out across the city. "A long way away. I won't be coming back, if that's what you mean. No, I have come to the end of my life here, and I shan't come back."

Valjean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He didn't want Javert to go; he knew that now. The Inspector had been such an integral part of his life for so long that to lose him now was, well, like loosing a loved one. It was silly really; the man had pursued him for years, he would have thought he would have been glad to see the back of him… But that was the whole point; Javert was the only person who _knew_ Valjean. Laughable though the thought might be, Javert was the closest thing to a friend that Valjean had ever had. He shook his head, attempting to push these ridiculous thoughts aside; but they welled up within his heart, filled his head so that he felt he might drown in them. He needed time; how could he get more time? He cast his companion a sideways glance, trying to gauge whether he dare voice his thoughts.

"You, you could come back to my place if you wanted. Only for tonight if that suits, but you're welcome to stay as long as you wish."

Javert quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

"Don't push it. Just because we've called it quits doesn't qualify me to occupy your spare room."

Valjean hung his head. No good, then.

"No, I suppose not."

Javert looked at the ex-con steadily and Valjean thought he detected something in his eyes; a flicker of something that was nearly an action. It seemed for a moment that the Inspector would speak, but then it was gone as soon as it had appeared; Javert got up stiffly and stretched, checking his pocket watch and casting a glance to the east where the first light of dawn was appearing in the form of a pale grey streak on the horizon.

"I need to get going. I left a note with the secretary of the Prefect, basically stating my resignation. The hat and the cane on the bridge should be enough to make them think I jumped whether they find a body or not, so don't be surprised if you see my obituary in the paper a few days from now."

Valjean looked down at the mossy slates and nodded, his heart sinking. He wanted to plead, to grab the man by the lapels and scream at him, tell him why he couldn't go, that he needed him; but he bit his tongue and swallowed his words. They both knew what they were losing; that instant of understanding in the other man's eyes had told him enough to know it. But they would lose it, and there was nothing in the world he could say or do to change that. They were the Chase, and now it was over; over in one night of gunshots, knives, blood and powder-smoke.

"Good bye, Javert." His throat tightened around the words, giving his voice a strangled quality. This is not how he had wanted it to end. Javert nodded.

"Good bye Valjean."

And he stepped forward… and dropped into thin air.

Valjean rushed to the edge, his heart in his mouth, and watched wide-eyed as the Inspector plummeted towards the earth. It certainly seemed as if he would hit the ground at full force; but just for a moment his fluttering greatcoat seemed to swirl around him like a pair of wings… and he was standing, two feet firmly on the cobblestones, staring up at Valjean's now blanched face. The old con laughed in relief, laughter mixing with tears as Javert stood to attention, smiled and gave him a mock salute. Then he turned, squared his shoulders and marched off at a swift pace, Valjean watching until he was lost in the maze of the city.

A chill wind whipped round the rooftop and Valjean pulled his sewer-stained coat around him, shivering. Time he was going as well. He turned away from the edge in order to start his descent when he realised he was now alone, six or seven storeys from the ground and not a piece of guttering in sight. It also occurred to him that he had only ever gone up a wall unaided, never down; for in going down he had always managed to commandeer a rope. Valjean's mouth formed into a grim smile.

"Bastard."

And the stars in the heavens seemed to laugh as one by one they disappeared in the growing light.

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**A/N:** And the prompt challenge was;_ "One or both of the two Javert and Valjean has wings of some sort, and not in a metaphorical way."_ You can see how I ruined the potential!crack. Ah well, the world goes on… Merry Christmas, everyone! 


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